Collection 1983 - Law Of The Desert Born (v5.0) Read online

  It was given in evidence that he had also sold a horse once known to belong to Ryan, an Irish miner recently murdered. He was utterly vicious. He had laughed when they arrested him. He had laughed at the trial. He had said he had friends, that he would be set free. He had seemed very sure.

  Breidenhart? Somehow Matt Sabre did not find that logical. Nor Johnny Call. To set him free against the will of the town would not be easy. It meant somebody of influence.

  He shook his head. He was imagining things. Suddenly, he looked up to see Claire Gallatin beside him. “May I join you?” She smiled widely, then sat down. “I’m still hoping to persuade you to help us, you know.” Her purse had fallen open, facing him. There was a fat sheaf of bills visible. “I must free my brother.”

  Matt shook his head. “Sorry. The answer is the same as before.”

  Her eyes searched his. “You’re a strange man, Matt. Tell me about yourself.”

  “Nothing much to tell.” His eyes were faintly humorous as he looked across the table. “I’m past thirty, single, and own a ranch south of here. I’ve covered a lot of countries and places.” He smiled as he said this. “And I’ve known a lot of women, in Paris, in London, in Vienna and Florence. Twice women got things from me that I shouldn’t have given them. Both times were before I was eighteen.”

  Her eyes chilled a little. “You mean you can’t be persuaded now? Is it so wonderful to be hard? To be cold? Do you find it so admirable to be able to refuse a girl who wants to help her only brother to escape death? Is that something of which to be proud?” Her lips trembled. Her chin lifted proudly. “I’ll admit, I had little hope, but I’d heard that western men were gallant and that if…if they lacked gallantry, they might…they might be persuaded by other means.” She touched the packet of bills.

  “And if that failed?”

  “Matt Sabre,” she said, her voice low and pleading, “can’t you see? I am offering all that I have! Everything! I know it is very little, but—”

  He smiled at her, his eyes twinkling faintly. “Very little? I think it is quite a lot. There must be two thousand dollars in that sheaf of bills!”

  “Three thousand.”

  “And you…you’re very lovely, very exciting, and you play your role even better than you did when I saw you play in East Lynne. That was last year, in El Paso.”

  Her face stiffened with anger. “You’ve been laughing at me! Why, you—”

  Matt Sabre got up quickly and stepped back. “Laughing at you? Of course not! But this performance has been preposterous. Two days ago, I became marshal. My first official act was to arrest Rafe Berry and bring him to trial. He was convicted. Almost at once you appear and claim to be his sister.”

  “I was close by! I am his sister!” Her face was hard, and her lips had thinned, yet she was still, he admitted, beautiful.

  “His sister? And you haven’t even asked to see him?” Matt chuckled. “But don’t be angry. I’ve enjoyed it. Only”—he leaned over the table—“who paid you to come here?”

  She rose and walked away from him, walking rapidly toward the steps. He watched her, frowning thoughtfully.

  Three thousand dollars was a lot to protect Rafe Berry. Or was it to protect somebody else? Somebody who could afford three thousand dollars to keep him quiet?

  Nat Falley had come in, and he watched the girl up the stairs. “You’re lucky,” he said dryly. “She’s very beautiful.”

  Sabre nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, regretfully, “but maybe too expensive for me. For some things, the price is always too high.”

  Falley watched him go out the door, frowning thoughtfully. He looked up the steps, hesitated, then shrugged and walked away.

  BACK AT THE jail, Jeb opened the door for Sabre. “Town’s full up,” Jeb commented, “with mighty tough hombres. Reckon there’ll be trouble?”

  “Could be.” Matt took a worn ledger from the desk. In this ledger, arrests and dispositions were entered. Jeb eyed him dyspeptically as he opened it.

  “Ain’t much in there,” he said. “What you huntin’?”

  “I don’t know exactly,” Sabre admitted, “but Berry isn’t the only man here who deserves hanging. And there’s somebody behind this.”

  Jeb said nothing, watching the big man loitering across the street. Others were coming. They were beginning to close in. “You all right here?” Sabre asked him.

  “Yep.” Jeb turned his head. “Better’n you’ll be out there. You better stay until day comes.”

  “I’ve work to do. I’ll be able to do more outside, anyway. Keep back from the door. I’ve an idea they’ll use blasting powder.”

  “They’d have to throw it,” Jeb replied. “That won’t be easy.”

  He closed the door behind Matt Sabre, and the marshal strolled forward; men faded back into the shadows, but anxious to avoid precipitating trouble, he seemed unaware of them. Yet he knew he must hurry. There was little time.

  Darius Gilbert, one of the owners of the general store, was seated in the big buffalo-hide chair. He looked pale and worried. His usually florid cheeks had lost color, and his brows were drawn in. As Matt entered the Empire House, he got hurriedly to his feet and thrust a note into his hands. Matt glanced at it, the same cheap paper, the penciled words: Call off your marshal or we’ll burn you out. It was unsigned.

  “They won’t.” Sabre folded the note and put it in his pocket. It was not, he realized, an entire sheet. It had been torn from a larger sheet, as had his own warning note. Each had been written on the bottom of a page. Hence, if he found that tablet and these torn sheets fitted…“Where’s Owen Cobb?” he asked.

  “At the store. He’s worried about it. He’s sittin’ over there with a rifle.”

  Sabre tapped his pocket. “You sell paper like that note?”

  “I don’t know. Cobb does the buyin’ an’ sellin’. I’ve just got money invested, like Nat Falley.”

  Matt Sabre sat down and opened the ledger he had brought with him. Time and again, the same names. Most were simple drunk and disorderly charges, yet there were a number of arrests for robbery, most of them released for lack of evidence.

  “Did you ever stop to think, Gilbert, that somebody has been protecting the crooks around here?”

  Gilbert turned his big head and stared at Sabre. His eyes blinked. “You mean somebody is behind ’em? That I doubt.”

  “Look at this: Berry bailed out three times. No evidence to bring him to trial at any time. And this man Dickert. His fines paid, witnesses that won’t talk, some of them bribed and some frightened.”

  Sabre tapped the book as Falley joined them. “Checking this book and the one I examined last night, I find Breidenhart bailed some of these men out and paid fines for others. It figures to be more than a thousand dollars in the past three months.”

  Gilbert rubbed his jaw. “That’s a lot of money.”

  “It is. And did Breidenhart ever impress you as a philanthropist? Where does he get that kind of money? To my notion, he’s the middleman, and somebody else is behind all this, taking the major portion of the loot for protection and tipoffs.”

  Sabre tapped a folded paper. “Here’s a list of robbed men. All had money. In the very nature of things, thieves would make an occasional bad guess, but not these fellows. That means they were told who carried money and who did not.”

  “What do you plan to do?” Falley asked.

  Sabre got to his feet. He looked at Nat Falley and shrugged. “The answer is obvious. Get the leader and your crime will drop to nothing at all. He’s the man we want. And I may ask you gentlemen for help.”

  HE MUST SEE Owen Cobb. He walked swiftly along the street, noting the increasing number of men who loitered about. But there was time. He found Cobb in his room, one shoe off. “Yes,” Cobb admitted, “I did sell some powder today. Sold it to that man Dickert.”

  Sabre got to his feet. “Thanks. Just what I wanted to know.”

  Cobb looked up, rubbing his foot. “Matt, you forget it. Thi
s is too big for us. Let Berry go. If we don’t let him go, there’ll be hell to pay. I been settin’ here wonderin’ if I dare go to bed.”

  “You go to bed.” Sabre’s face was somber in the reflected lamplight. “This is my problem.”

  At the door he hesitated, considering again the problem before him. He must talk to Nat Falley. It was just a hunch, but Falley would know about the mining claims.

  Outside, he paused, listening. There was subdued movement, and he knew his time was growing short. So far, they were still gathering; then they would bunch and talk before moving against the jail. He turned into a dark alleyway and walked swiftly along it.

  There was a cabin a block off the main street, and a light was showing. Sabre’s step quickened, and he dropped a hand to his gun to make sure it was ready. At the cabin, he did not knock or stop; he lifted the latch and stepped in.

  Dickert was sitting at the table cutting a short piece of fuse still shorter. A can of powder was on the floor near him. As he saw Sabre, he started to his feet, clawing for a gun. Matt struck swiftly, and Dickert toppled back, knocking the table over. Yet the miner was a burly man, and rugged. He came up swiftly and swung. Matt, overly eager, stepped in and caught the punch on the cheekbone. Springing after him, Dickert stepped into a wicked, lifting right uppercut to the brisket. He gulped and stepped back and, grabbing his stomach, turned sideways. Sabre struck swiftly and without mercy, smashing the man behind the ear with his fist.

  Dickert hit the floor on his face and lay still. Swiftly, Matt Sabre bound him. Then he picked up the powder, and dabbing at the cut on his cheekbone, he left the cabin.

  When he again reached the street, he moved quietly up to the gathering of men. One man hung on the edge of the crowd, and Matt tapped him gently on the shoulder, then drew him to one side. In the vague light from a window, he recognized the man as a tough miner he had seen about. “Hello, Jack,” he said quietly. “Kind of late for you to be around, isn’t it?”

  Uneasily, the miner shifted his feet. That he had not expected Sabre was obvious, and also that he had planned to shield his own identity in the anonymous shadow of the crowd. Now he was suddenly recognized and in the open. He had no liking for it. “You know, Jack,” Sabre suggested, “I’ve never found you in trouble so far, but I’m here to stay, Jack, and if there’s trouble, I’ll know one man to arrest. You want to be the goat?”

  “Now, look Matt,” Jack protested, “I’m just lookin’ on. I ain’t done a thing!”

  “Then why not go home and keep out of it?” Sabre suggested.

  The miner shrugged. “Reckon you’re right. See you.” He turned and walked quickly away.

  Sabre watched him go, searching for Breidenhart. No sign of him yet. Knowing much of the psychology of mobs, Sabre circulated through the crowd, staring long into this face and that, occasionally making a suggestion. Here and there, a man slipped away and vanished into darkness. Mobs, he reflected, must be anonymous. Most men who make up mobs act only under influence of the crowd. Singled out and suddenly alone, they become uncertain and uneasy. Deliberately, he let them know that he knew them. Deliberately, he walked among them, making each man feel known, cut off.

  Returning to the shadows, Sabre unlocked a door and picked up a bundle of tied-up man. He cut loose the ropes around his ankles. “Just walk along with me and you’ll have no trouble.”

  “You can’t get away with this!” Dickert protested. “I ain’t done nothin’!”

  “And you aren’t going to. You’ve been arrested and the powder confiscated until things quiet down. I’m keeping you out of trouble.”

  As they moved into the light beside the jail door, there was a shout from the crowd. Men surged forward. “There’s Dickert! What’s up? Why’s he arrested?”

  Sabre glanced at them, then said, “Prisoner, Jeb.” He shoved Dickert inside, then turned to the angry crowd. He singled out their angry stares one by one, nodding at each recognition. “I arrested Dickert to keep him out of trouble. There’s been some fool talk about blowing the jail, and he had possession of some powder. He’ll stay inside until he’s safe.”

  Sabre smiled. “I suppose you boys are down here to be sure the prisoner isn’t taken away. Well, he’s in safe hands. You’ll have your hanging, all right. No need to worry.” His eyes settled on the face of one man. “Hello, Bill. I noticed on the jail books that you’re out on bond. Don’t leave town as I’ll pick you up in a day or two. There are eight or ten of you here tonight who are due for trial within the next few weeks. I’m going to clean the books fast. I know you don’t want to have to wait for trial.

  “Those of you”—he spoke louder—“who deserve hanging will get it. Any attempt at mob violence here tonight will be punished by hanging. I’ve a man who will talk to save his own skin, so there will be evidence enough.”

  Inwardly, his stomach was tight, his mouth dry. He stood in the full light, outwardly calm and confident, aware that he must break their shell of mob thinking and force each man to think of his own plight and the consequences to himself. He must make each man sure he was recognized, known. As a mass, thinking with one mind, they were dangerous, but if each began to worry…“Glad to see you, Shroyer. I’ll be picking you up tomorrow. And you, Swede. No more protection, boys; that’s over.”

  There was a sudden stir in the crowd, and Breidenhart pushed his way through. He grinned at Sabre. “All right, boys! Let’s bust this jail open and turn Rafe loose!”

  Breidenhart half turned his head to speak to the crowd, and Matt took a swift step forward and grabbed him by the back of the shirt collar, jerking him backward, off balance. As the big man toppled, Sabre took a quick turn on the collar, tightening it to a strangling grip. His other hand held a quickly drawn .44 Russian. “Stand back! Let’s have no trouble now!”

  Breidenhart struggled furiously, kicking and thrashing while his face turned dark.

  “He’s stranglin’,” Shroyer protested.

  “That’s too bad,” Sabre replied shortly. “A man who hunts trouble usually gets it.”

  “Take him!” a voice shouted from the rear. “Rush him, you fools! He’s only one man! Don’t let him get away with this!”

  The voice was strangely familiar. Sabre strained his eyes over the heads of the crowd as they surged forward. Shroyer was in the lead, not altogether of his own volition. Sabre dropped Breidenhart and kicked him away with his foot. Then he shot Shroyer through the knee. The man screamed and fell, and that scream stopped the crowd.

  “The next shot is to kill,” Sabre said loudly. “If that man in the rear wants trouble, send him up. He’s mighty anxious to get you killed, but I don’t see him up in front!”

  Behind him, Jeb Cannon’s voice drawled lazily from the barred window of the jail door. “Let ’em come, Matt,” he said. “I got two barrels of buckshot ready and enough shells laid here on a chair to kill an army. Let ’em come.”

  Breidenhart was tugging at his collar, still gasping. He started to rise, and with scarcely a glance, Sabre slashed down with his gun barrel, and Breidenhart fell like a dropped log and lay flat. Sabre waited, his gun ready, while Shroyer moaned on the ground.

  Men at the back of the crowd slipped quietly away into the darkness, and those in front, feeling the space behind them, glanced around to see the crowd scattered and melting.

  When the last of them had drawn back and disappeared, Jeb opened the jail door. He collared Breidenhart and dragged him within. Sabre picked up Shroyer and carried him inside. The bone was shattered, and the wound was bleeding badly. Sabre worked over it swiftly, doing what he could. “I’ll get the doctor,” he said then.

  At breakfast, Matt Sabre looked up to see Claire Gallatin come into the room. He got up quickly and invited her to join him. She hesitated, then crossed the room and sat down opposite him. “What happened last night? I’m dying to know!”

  After explaining briefly, he added, “I’ve nothing against you, but tell me. Who paid you to come here?”
/>   “I have no idea.” She drew a letter, written on the already-familiar tablet paper, from her purse. It was an offer of five hundred dollars if she would claim to be the sister of the prisoner and use her wiles on the marshal. If that failed, she was to offer a bribe. “I wasn’t much good at it,” she told him, “or else you aren’t very susceptible.”

  Sabre chuckled. “I’m susceptible, but you’re better in the theater. I’ve seen you in New Orleans as well as El Paso. In fact, you’re very good.”

  Her smile was brilliant. “I feel better already! But”—her face became woeful—“what will we do? The company went broke in El Paso, and now I won’t get the rest of my money. I’d planned on the pay to get us back East again.”

  “You still have the bribe money?”

  She nodded.

  “Then keep it.” He shrugged. “After all, to whom could you return it? You just go back to El Paso and get the show on the road.”

  The door opened before she could protest, and Nat Falley came in with Gilbert and Cobb. Falley smiled quickly, looking from the girl to Sabre. Gilbert looked worried, and Cobb was frowning. When they were seated, Sabre explained about the bribe money. “You agree?” he asked.

  Gilbert hesitated, then shrugged. “S’pose so.” Cobb added his agreement, and then Falley.

  “You seem to have handled a bad situation very well,” Falley said. “Who was hurt by that shot?”

  “Shroyer. He’s in jail with a broken leg.”

  “You’ll try him for that old killing?” Falley demanded.

  Sabre shook his head, looking at the mining man again. “No, I promised him immunity.”

  “What? You’d let him go?” Cobb protested. “But you know he’s one of the worst of them!”

  “He talked,” Sabre said quietly. “He gave me a sworn statement. Since then, I’ve been gathering evidence.”

  “Evidence?”

  Falley sat up straight. Only Cobb seemed relaxed now. He was watching Sabre, his eyes suddenly attentive. Nat Falley crossed and uncrossed his legs. He started to speak, then stopped. His eyes were on Sabre. Gilbert hitched his chair nearer.